


Before the Night is Done

by Lady_Athenangel



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual non-graphic smut, F/F, F/M, LGBTQA+ Characters, M/M, Multi, Plot Driven, Straight Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4671086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Athenangel/pseuds/Lady_Athenangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not like she knew the drug deal would go south. It's Manhattan, y'know? Drug deals happened everyday. Kidnappings happened everyday. The marriage of the two wasn't too out – of – the – ordinary either, really. Bianca just wasn't prepared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was one of the coldest nights of the year. It was the middle of the winter, and there was a thick layer of ice and snow on any and every outside surface. From the concrete of the sidewalks and streets to the metals of bike racks and street signs to the bark on the trees that lined downtown Manhattan; bitter yet beautiful coats of frozen water.

So when Bianca found herself underground in a large steel cage without gloves on, she didn't know exactly what to do with herself.

As she sat in a dark, dank corner in an unnecessarily large contraption freezing her nipples off(because this fucking coat is too fucking thin), the thought of "what the hell am I doing here?" sprinted through her mind thousands of times. She scanned the area, memorizing and analyzing her surroundings well enough to have the slightest hope of getting out of this mess. But then again, her ADHD was pretty bad; so bad that whenever the littlest movement of a rat scurrying along or the continuous (and frankly annoying) plip-plop sound of water drops entered her ears, Bianca would forget about planning the escape and focus on telepathically murdering the damned rodent or drying up all the water in the city so she wouldn't have to listen to that awful noise anymore.

It's not like she knew the drug deal would go south. It's Manhattan, y'know? Drug deals happened everyday. Kidnappings happened everyday. The marriage of the two wasn't too out – of – the – ordinary either, really. Bianca just wasn't prepared. She wasn't prepared for the big, ridiculously yellow '60s Volkswagen to screech to a stop at her corner. She wasn't prepared for the driver of said Volkswagen to be a gorgeous, raven-haired young woman with silvery skin and lightning blue eyes so intense that they seemed to delve into the deepest parts of her soul and rummage around until it grabbed hold of her darkest secret and exposed it for all to see.

She for damn sure wasn't prepared when the chick threw a potato sack over her head and chucked her into the backseat of the yellow atrocity. Without her gloves, at that.

But hey, that's Manhattan for you.

Bianca must have been there for hours before she finally heard footsteps echo through the large space. And in a small matter of time she watched as the – absolutely fucking ethereal - woman from before emerged from the shadows like a villain from those cliché mystery novels her little brother loves to read. As she came into the light, her features became more and more defined. Bianca could now see that the woman's hair was in a neat pixie cut. She had a tattoo on the right side of her neck: a very intricate design of a notched bow and arrow with lines flowing through the open gaps between the string and its hold, and gracefully wrapping around the arrow like a loose ribbon; those lines favored the wisps of smoke that embers of a fire leave as a trail. Words could not describe how...fascinating it was.

"You stole from my boss." The sound that came from her was like gravel but had a long, deep yet womanly drawl that sent shivers down Bianca's spine. It was almost soothing to the ears.

Almost.

"I ain't stole shit, lady. But that's some nice ink you got there. How much did you cry after it was etched?"

The unduly comment was not appreciated. Bianca's smugness was rewarded with the piercing burst of a gunshot and clang of a bullet coming in contact with the cage. She doubled back, retreating as far as the cell would let her.

"You stole from my boss," she repeated, the gun pointed at Bianca this time.

What a quaint young lady, Bianca sneered in her mind. She started to feel her hands become numb from the cold, so numb that they almost hurt. Shoving her hands deep enough into her pockets where she could feel the unraveled stitching, Bianca eyed the woman's leather gloves, lusting for a taste of their warmth. Soon, she forgot all about the pistol that was aimed at her head and instead tried to concoct a scheme to get those 'hand ovens', as her younger sister called them.

"So, hey," Bianca began, crawling on all fours from the back of the cage to get closer to the dim light. Maybe she could lure the woman with her puppy-dog look. "I'd be much more inclined to talk about that thing I stole from your boss if my hands were warmer." She pulled a chapped extremity from her pocket and swept her cold, slender fingers along greasy strands of dark hair to reveal her wide, dark eyes. She tried her best to replicate her brother's best method of convincing, poking out her bluing bottom lip for good measure.

The woman didn't falter. If anything, the gun was more steady now, her gaze steely enough to pierce the metal hull of any ship. Bianca could tell that she was considering, though. The woman bit her lip and ever so slowly tapped her foot. Bianca observed her as she weighed her options. The woman peered down at her gloves then at Bianca's nearly frostbitten hand and back again.

"Please miss," Bianca begged in a sweetened tone, "I'll tell you everything I know." She was really laying it on thick now. With her perfected childish countenance and ace negotiation skills, there was no way the woman would refuse her. Not when she looked this raggedy and cold and helpless.

"Fine," the woman grunted. She flipped a switch on the gun (presumably the safety control) and nuzzled the gun under her armpit. She snatched the gloves off, handing them to Bianca through the bars of the cage. The prisoner never snatched something so quickly in her life. Feeling the soft fur lining of the gloves tickle her palms was orgasmic. Bianca was enraptured by how comforting they were. She swore, right then and there, that she would never take advantage of a nice pair of hand coverings again in her life.

"You have a good heart." The compliment was genuine. Most would use the threat of frostbite to extract information. This – this absolutely terrifying, undeniably stunning woman didn't. Of course, Bianca had offered information in exchange for them, but to put herself at the mercy of below zero weather? No, there was something more to her than her tough exterior. Understanding? Maybe. Compassion? Definitely.

The woman withdrew the weapon from her armpit, switched the safety back off and, albeit gracefully, set the nozzle back on the brown haired girl's forehead. "Now that you're satiated, tell me where it is."

Bianca nonchalantly shrugged. "Sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The hell you don't! Where is the aura?!" She was yelling now. Her insanely straight teeth were gritted in irritation; her knuckles were white from her tightened grip on the pistol.

"I don't know what that is! I'm a dealer not a thief!"

"You're lying! I know you have the aura, so tell me!"

Bianca was losing her patience. After taking a few moments to calm herself, she answered in a huff, "I'm locked in a cage with some stranger waving a loaded gun in my face. If there were anything to tell, I would have spilled by now."

The expression on the woman's face didn't change, but when she lowered the gun, Bianca knew that her reasoning had won her over. She sat back against the cage, waiting for some sort of reaction. But she just stood there, staring Bianca down with those oh – so glorious stormy irises. The dealer shifted under her gaze. She didn't understand why, but a wave of self-consciousness swept over her like a tempest. She smoothed her hair back and straightened her coat. Her appearance hadn't mattered before, but now she was mimicking the actions of someone who wanted the eligibility of gaining one's affection.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Bianca shoved her hands back into her pockets and shied away to the very back of the cage.

"I'll return later."With that, the tattooed beauty went back into the darkness from whence she came.

"Dear Lord, give me strength," Bianca whispered to herself. The migraine that was festering in her head since she woke was now wreaking havoc. She closed her eyes to relieve the pain. The darkness behind her lids was welcoming for a while; until she popped into her head. Her eyes, the smooth curvature of her face. The permanent scowl that her incredibly defined pink lips provided. The image of being kissed by those lips was too much, dammit.

What she wanted more than anything right now was to run her hands down that utterly stupid and impossibly perfect waistline. Cup that face in her hands and pepper kisses everywhere; Bianca mapped it all out in her brain: down her tattooed neck she would lick, up to her pierced ears she would nip, across her jawline she would slowly drag her hot mouth until the woman begged for more.

No, Bianca had no idea what to do with herself. But she did know one thing:

"Nico and Hazel are going to slaughter me."


	2. Chapter 2

Bianca hadn’t slept in two days. 

Well, it felt like two days. For all she knew she’d only been down there for a little less than a day. She found surprisingly hard to tell time when you can’t see the rise and set of the sun (maybe she shouldn’t be joking right now). It’s moments like these that make her miss windows and light. Not that she had a problem with darkness. No, darkness was comfort to Bianca. It was quiet, unobtrusive, peaceful, didn’t force her to look at things that she didn’t want to; like her face in the morning. It allowed her to clear her mind from the drug dealing and the danger and the stress of being a twenty-one year old vagrant who could possibly spend the rest of her life in prison…

On second thought, fuck windows. 

Bianca lay back on the floor of the cage. She was grateful that the stranger put her in a cage large enough that she could stretch out her legs. Now only if she had included pillows and a blanket, Bianca’s sleep schedule may have been less torturous than it is right now. But then again, that’s probably the point. 

The tired pull of her eyelids was as obnoxious as it was welcome. She’d give in if it weren’t for the lingering hope that the mystery woman would revisit her; ideally with food in hand instead of a gun. Keeping herself alert, Bianca began to sing an old lullaby that her mother would serenade she and Nico with when they were kids. Where Bianca adored the song, Nico abhorred it.

“It reminds me of the past,” he would say, “when you live in the past the present goes by in a blur and the future is less accessible.”

To onlookers, Nico would seem like a young man who was goal driven, ambitious, a forward thinker, but Bianca knows that he’s trying to hide the way he truly feels: angry, heartbroken, disappointed, afraid. He tried his damndest to live in the present, to no avail. In all honesty, though, Bianca has noticed that her darling baby brother sets himself up for emotional failure. Nico’s heart is the biggest of anyone she’s ever had the pleasure of knowing. He was kind, accepting, compassionate, willing to give someone the shirt off of his back - albeit to a fault. They are like cracks in a sensitive shell of armor that, when in battle, shatter the protection into a useless pile of shrapnel; whatever the hull protected before was then left vulnerable. Before anything could pierce it, however, it would build itself new armor just as weak as the last. 

Bianca’s waiting on the day when Nico doesn’t build another quick enough, and is soon left helpless, bleeding from the knife in his back. 

“Hey. Are you awake?” The question was less of a question and more of a grunted statement. When Bianca peered through the strands of her hair, she was met with her captor, a sour grimace on her face. 

“Hello, sunshine - ahem.” Her throat was scratchy from lack of use, and her attempt at clearing it up only made it worse. She kept talking anyway. “Let me tell ya, smile any brighter and I may come down with a bad case of Stockholm syndrome.” Shut up, Bianca, she said to herself. You never talk this much.

Bianca nodded down, inviting the woman to take a seat. She obliged, but not without shooting her captive a cold, distrusting glare. She unzipped her jacket, shouldered it off, and dropped it on the ground in a heap. Without it, she wore only a thermal, a baby blue knit scarf and black ski pants tucked in heavy snowboots. Bianca estimated about ten minutes before the dangerous, stoic grump became the frostbitten dangerous, stoic grump. 

“My boss has a proposition for you.” The woman said. 

Her interest instantly piqued. No 99 caliber handgun being shoved down her throat? No bad-cop routine? Just an ordinary conversation between two young women? There had to be an angle. Bianca wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Violating the thing via thrusting her head in it’s windpipe was more Bianca’s speed. If there was one lesson she learned from her father, it was to trust no one outside of the family. Inquiry was a gift meant to be used brazenly and often. Question all motives of everyone’s actions. A polite stranger may be a master of espionage, “inadvertently” confronting you for malicious reasons. Check your pockets when someone bumps into you on the crowded streets. If you are locked in a cage below the city by a person who you are not convinced isn’t a goddess, being falsely accused by said goddess of stealing something that you thought was just a fancy word for air and is now probably proposing the yellow brick road leading to your inevitable death on behalf of their boss… be sure to ask questions. 

“What’s your name?” Yes, Bianca. Great start. 

The woman’s eyes narrowed before answering, “It’s not important.”

“Hm.” Bianca lifted herself from her leaning position on the thick bars of the cage to sit in front of the woman, legs crossed. She combed her fingers through her hair, sweeping the strands back so her face was completely visible. “Fair enough. The proposition, then?”

“You didn’t steal the aura. She’s sorry for blaming you.”

“And ordering my kidnapping... ?”

“That too,” she deadpanned. “She has a file on you. According to your high school transcript, you graduated summa cum laude with a cumulative GPA of 4.5 at the age of fifteen. You were accepted into all eight American Ivy League schools." She paused, swallowing the thick air. A short pause- until she continued, "Instead of attending University, you chose to take a gap year - you wanted the chance to be a kid,” Her face softened, and, for the first time since they’ve spoken, the woman’s continuous facade failed; vulnerability exists in everyone. Bianca saw it as her shoulders slightly drooped, heard it as her voice subtly cracked. Her face had dark shadows under her eyes that Bianca hadn’t noticed before; she had frown lines too deep for her age. In her weak state, the woman reminded Bianca of her mother just before she passed away from cancer; and like her dad who, when packing his bags for another country, would refuse to look his children in the eyes. “I’m leaving and I don’t know if you’ll ever see me again,” he sounded pathetic. “You all will be taken to a hotel where you’ll live until each of you are eighteen. Whatever happens after that is up to you.”

She reminded Bianca of how she looked when she watched her father walk out on her and Nico and Hazel. If she were to be honest, the real lesson he taught her was more along the lines of “never trust anyone; especially the man who gave birth to you”. Now, her faith in humanity goes as far as her siblings. Everyone else is an outsider who, if unbeneficial, essentially don’t exist. 

Except this one. 

“What is it that your boss needs?” Bianca questioned gently. 

The woman straightened, almost successfully rebuilding her defensive barrier. “She wants you to help catch the aura thief. In return, she’ll set you free and give you and your family the life you all deserve.”

She had to admit, that was a nice incentive. But she knew that nothing was that easy. 

“I’ve been a drug dealer for six years now. I’ve been lied to, cheated, jumped, shot, you name it. My sister is a stripper, my brother is a prostitute and we live in a two bedroom studio apartment that doesn’t have working heat. So here’s the question of the hour:

"What’s the catch?”

The woman smiled wide, the corners of her mouth stretching from ear to ear. Her eyes gleamed mischievously. One nearly felt the excitement radiating from her. She leaned in close, teasing, nose nearly touching Bianca’s. The caged girl felt as if her captor was delving into her very soul. 

“You, Bianca di Angelo,” she purred, “are going to join the Hunt.”

Bianca didn’t know what to say, but she knew what she wanted most right then.

“What’s your name?”

A chuckle. 

“You’ll find out when the time is right. Now get up. You’ve got someplace to be.”


	3. Chapter 3

_ Sundown was Nico’s favorite time of day. He loved to observe as the sun departed the sky from a hard days’ work. Wisps of orange, red and blue tinted clouds laced together creating colors of their own, giving the fatherly star a worthy goodnight. He felt like an intruder to this nightly ritual. It was too ethereal. He was too lowly. Less than a speck of dust in the vastness of the galaxies, universes, multiverse (or multiverses depending with whom you’re speaking). To think the world is virtually nothing. That his actions and the actions of others don’t matter in the sequence of time. The suffering of his family could be but a simple novella in a library of histories stretching far beyond human documentation.   _

 

_ Nico refocused on his surroundings. He reminded himself that he was sitting on the beach, the sound of the ocean bombarding the sandy shore overwhelmed nearly all of his senses. All he could smell was the water, see the dark shade of blue reflecting the disappearing light above. His butt was wet from the rising tide. His digits damp from the on-again-off-again submersion. It reminded him of his relationships; Nico would have bouts of depression that drowned him, forcing sadness and despair to course through all parts of his body. Sometimes he couldn’t breathe, sometimes he wished he’d stopped trying a long time ago. He doesn’t blame his friends or partners or family members (save for his dad) for the suffocation. Those that cared showed it and he was grateful. They were his air, his fight, his life jacket, the pull to his push. He lived because of them.   _

 

_ A small turtle caught his eye as it drifted ashore on its back. Nico allowed a slight sympathetic smile to sprout on his face. The small creature struggled to get back on its feet, wobbling on its shell as a boat does on untroubled waters. Nico rose from his spot on the cold, wet sand, lifting the turtle and carefully flipping it right side up. He was surprised by his own gentleness. Even with the most premature of infants his touch had never been so delicate. Either someone carved a cockpit in his mind, controlling his movements, or this was who he really truly was; no one outside the di Angelo-Levesque family ever thought Nico a benevolent soul. Maybe that itself speaks volumes of his character, or more so, the characters of everyone else.  _

 

_ He waded mid-thigh deep in the ocean with the reptile cradled in his arms. Oddly, the wriggling animal was a comfort. Somehow, it didn’t trust him, but he was willing to whisper his darkest thoughts, feelings and secrets. Perhaps it was the language barrier; perhaps the difference in species. He hesitated before dipping his arms in the water, letting the little thing swim out of his grasp.  _

 

_ “How long  were you going to stand there before I acknowledged you?” Nico continued watching the turtle swim away,  not turning when the question escaped his lips. He had known when he sneaked out of the house that someone would eventually come looking for him. He didn’t know who was behind him, but the tension between he and whomever was searing a cold look into the back of his head helped widdel down the options.  _

 

_ “You’re supposed to be at home, boy.” _

 

_ He was hoping it was Bianca again. She had never liked it when he left the house without her knowing, especially when she knew he needed it.   _

 

_ But it had to be him.  _

 

_ Nico steadily back-pedaled out of the water until he heard his feet sift through the dry sand. His blue jeans were uncomfortably drenched but he could care less.  _

 

_ “And you’re supposed to be managing people’s money, right Dad? What do people like you call that nowadays? Embezzling I think?”  _

 

_ Nico could hear the rapid stomps of his father’s feet crunching and kicking in the sand. The larger man’s strong hands clapped on his son’s shoulder and from there Nico found himself falling back on the ground. The grains of fine dust found its way into his eyes and mouth. His younger self wondered what the taste of glorified dirt was like. Unfortunately, now he knew.  _

 

_ Nico’s father stood over him, casting a sinister silhouette that one could describe as a hero standing on top of a monster after a momentous victory. Nico saw it as the other way around.  _

 

_ “You will learn to watch your tongue, boy,” the guttural groan of his voice laced with malice. _

 

_ “Or what,  _ Dad?” _ He spat as he turned on his side, eyeing the bank owner’s black and white pinstriped pants. “You’ll abandon me? Disown me and my sisters, your daughters; and leave us to live in a hotel, raised by receptionists and bellhops?” He rose, right knee left knee, right foot left foot, until he was staring up eye-to-eye with the beast.  _

 

_ “I’m doing it for your own good, son-” _

 

_ “Don’t you ‘son’ me.” It came out louder than expected, but it packed the punch he was hoping for. “You’re a sperm donor. Bianca has been more of a parent to me than you ever have.” _

 

_ “And she more of a son.”  _

 

_ Nico was ambivalent toward the man’s opinion. Surely it hurt that he wasn’t as valued as his sister, but he knew that he was the least favorite of the three siblings. Bianca was always more popular than he. She was treated like a queen but he never resented her for it. To be quite honest, he kisses the ground she walks on and he’s not afraid to admit it. After their mother died Bianca carried the burden of motherhood way before her time. With their father at work all hours of the day and the servants seeing them as walking paychecks, Bianca had been fed up. If Hazel needed to be escorted to the restroom at ungodly hours of the morning, she would wake up, bleary eyed and numb, and walk the girl through the dark hallways of the over-sized mansion. On the day Nico was thrown in the trashcan by a group of sniveling snot-nosed rugrats who thought that picking on people because of their sexual orientation was funny, Bianca gave them a lesson their parents failed to.  _

 

_ After their father told them that he was abandoning them in favor of another woman… well, let’s just say he didn’t appreciate his bedroom safe being thrown in the ocean; nor his new $300,000,000 private jet.  _

 

_ But he doesn’t have to know who did it.  _

 

_ So yes, he pretty much worships his sister, for good reason.  _

 

_ Nico turned away from him. “Leave.” _

 

_ “No! I do not take commands from my own son!” _

 

_ “I. Am. Not. Your. Son.” Each punctuation was more venomous than the last; his final word came out as nothing more than a vitriolic whisper.  _

 

_ The man straightened. “Fine then,” he refused to move, to show any sign of weakness or regret. “I do not take orders from my subordinates. My offshoot. My property. My mistake.” _

 

_ Nico didn’t react. “Leave, Alecto. Please, sir,” he spoke through gritted teeth. The sound of shuffling sand receding in the other direction was when he knew he could breathe for the first time in minutes. But then he heard a final statement in the distance: _

 

_ “You better hope, for your sake, that Bianca can save you from your overwhelming sense of self-righteousness. If she doesn’t, pray to God that it doesn’t swallow you whole.” _

 

_ Nico could laugh.  _ You got it all wrong old man,  _ he thought.  _ I’m less than a speck of dust soon to dissolve in the unending progression of nature. But I’m still one thousand times the man you will ever be. 

 

And there is no God. 

\---

  
  


Nico awoke from the dream - the memory. That moment happened eight years ago on May 15. His father left two days later. He remembers that it rained around 11 p.m. on both nights. 

 

Nico sat up on the bed, movements slow like unoiled gears. Bianca’s been gone for two days now and it’s the longest he’s ever gone without seeing her. As he walked in the kitchen, Nico envisioned (or recalled, whatever floats your boat) his elder sister sitting on a bar stool with her elbows resting on the tall counter top,  holding a spoon full of cereal (Cinnamon Toast Crunch on good days, Captain Crunch on bad) in one hand, and a newspaper in the other (or, more specifically, the comics; she only really paid attention to _ Calvin and Hobbes _ ). Almost as if she could sense his presence, she would turn to give him a bright smile and a cheery morning greeting. Despite this, he knew that she was absolutely worn out, having probably gotten home a few minutes prior. Her job required a night owl lifestyle. Dealings rarely went down in the daytime. Since she was a child, it was hard for her to go too long without sleep. Bianca’s been pulling all nighters for six years, but she’d never gotten used to the exhaustion. 

 

The pocket of his over-sized green basketball shorts buzzed. Nico didn’t know who the fuck would call at five in the fucking morning. Whoever it was was about to be torn another asshole. 

 

“I don’t know who the fuck this is, but you better make up a good reason to have called so early in the next-”

 

“Nico?” It was a light, southern soaked drawl. The sound sweet enough to release endorphins. 

 

_ Oh, shit.  _ “Hey, baby girl. Sorry about that.”

 

Nico could nearly feel Hazel roll her eyes at him. “No worries. It’s morning. And I’m older than you.”

 

“Don’t care. You’re smaller.”

 

“So is Bianca.”

 

“Bianca is scary.”

 

“And so am I when I want to be.”

 

Nico smiled. He sat down on one of the three stools in front of him, unconsciously  picking up one of the cigarette butts collected in the glass ashtray next to him and twirling it in his fingers. “What’s up?” He asked.

 

“I just got a call from someone. They said, and I quote, ‘we’d like to make arrangements for an event that the di Angelo-Levesque siblings cannot pass up’. They want to meet us at the old church downtown around eight. You know the one.”

 

“Yeah, where ole Mr. Chase was murdered a couple years ago.”

 

“Also the place that went up in flames during a sermon killing, like, twelve people including the pastor.” Hazel helpfully added.  “What do you think they want?”

 

He took a moment to stare at the tip of the old smoked cigarette. Charred flakes of ash fell freely from the tip of the blunted stick with every move he made. He wished he had a microscope with him. Things like cigarettes, a complex product made up of an amazing variety of chemicals and substances designed to both incite pleasure, calm, and death all at once, never failed to stimulate his insatiable curiosities. So when a mysterious caller decides to invite he and his sister to a place - that’s supposedly holy - built upon morbid history and devastating tragedies, her question was answered before she even asked it. 

 

“Let me get my shower. I’ll pick you up from the club in about an hour. We can do breakfast before we head downtown. My treat.”

 

They said their goodbyes and hang up. An arrangement, huh? For the _ di Angelos, _ plural? Bianca should be there then, that’s good. But wanting to talk to the former heir apparents of a Fortune 500 company? 

  
He’ll bring his gun. Just in case. 


End file.
